


like a lover (with no shame)

by Elizabeth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, bedwarming, who's to say this isn't canon?, winter kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: The last bitter freeze of winter finds Arthur and Merlin deep in the forest. Ever gallant, Arthur is willing to go to great lengths to keep his manservant alive and unfrozen. He'll share his cloak, his bedding, and--if he must--even the warmth of his own body.Spring is almost here, but not without one final bedwarming fic for the Merthur Kiss Fest 2019/20. Thanks for Amnesty Week!"Midmorning sun is casting its rays against the tent walls, and Arthur is having his way with his half-sleeping manservant. He slept half the day, and he’s holding Merlin like a lover, with no shame."
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 741
Collections: The Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019





	like a lover (with no shame)

**Author's Note:**

> Bake Off Week 9 is coming along and will be posted soon-ish. As soon-ish as I am ever capable with that story. I just wanted to add this little thing in for the fest, mostly in appreciation.
> 
> I know the bedwarming thing is probably overdone, but, you know, I like it.

“Cold.” Merlin’s voice is barely a whisper, and Arthur pretends not to hear. There isn’t a thing he can do, after all, to keep the biting wind from their camp. He pulls his cloak tighter across his shoulders and leans toward the fire. The flames lick as high as they dare this deep in the forest, but their warmth eludes him. He peers over and watches Merlin’s body quake.

“It’s nearly Imbolc. Less than a fortnight, and you’ll be complaining about the heat.”

“No one… complains… about heat… at Imbolc,” Merlin manages to utter between chattering teeth. He convulses.

Arthur struggles to repress his own body’s movement. “Well, we already knew you were one of a kind.”

Merlin _almost_ smiles, and it’s enough to propel Arthur through the rest of their camp-making ritual: he props up the tent, takes a long swig of strong liquor, and unrolls their packs of bedding. They don’t usually travel so heavily-laden, but the skies have been heavy and wet for days. Gaius insisted, and Arthur has to admit he’s glad he listened. When he finishes, he turns to Merlin and finds him staring. “What?”

“You… set up… everything,” he chatters.

Arthur looks askance at the tent. “I’m not _helpless_ , _Mer_ lin. And you’re clearly more in need of the fire than I.” Merlin somehow manages to look grateful and angry at the same time, so Arthur sits beside him. “But if you expect me to make you dinner, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Merlin snorts, but reaches for his pack. “If you think… I’d eat… your cooking…”

“Merlin.”

“Mm?”

Arthur glares at him. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

The sausages and potatoes are hot enough to fuel Arthur’s care of the horses. He leaves Merlin by the fire, rocking back and forth, and refreshes their water from a nearby ice-covered stream. When he takes a sip, his teeth ache. He checks the perimeter of their camp again, determines no one else is crazy enough to hazard this weather, and sits back down.

Merlin’s tremors have lessened. “Thank you,” he mutters.

Arthur nods. He leans toward Merlin. “You know, if you wore a cloak, you’d be warmer.” He ignores Merlin’s angry glare and continues, “Or a heavier coat.”

“Oh of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Probably because—”

“Because I _already did_ , and I _don’t have them_.”

“You don’t have a cloak?” Arthur scoffs.

“ _This_ is my warmest coat, you—”

“Ooh! Oh.” Arthur says. “Oh.” He considers his own cupboard of outerwear. He realizes he doesn’t actually know what it holds. He realizes Merlin knows, but he thinks he probably shouldn’t ask. “Well, here.” He slides closer to Merlin and wraps his cloak around them both.

Merlin goes perfectly still. He lets out a slow breath, then convulses violently and leans against Arthur.

“Here,” Arthur whispers. He pulls the cloak tight and feels Merlin melt against him.

It takes ages for the shivering to stop completely. Arthur fills the time by strategizing the fortress ingress. Bandits have occupied this outpost for weeks, and he can only hope they haven’t settled in too thoroughly. Arthur needs to recover any captured knights loyal to Camelot, drive out the bandit rebels, and liberate the small village beside the keep. “It should be easy,” he explains. “As long as they haven’t discovered the tunnel.”

Merlin snorts. “Easy.”

“Well. Not hard.”

Merlin snorts again.

“Not hard for _me_ , anyway.”

Merlin actually laughs out loud, and Arthur feels himself relax in a way he hasn’t for days. He rolls his shoulders.

“You should have more faith in me by now, Merlin,” Arthur adds. He ignores the way Merlin’s laughter crescendos. He relishes the heat that radiates from Merlin’s body to his. “Let’s go through this again.”

They don’t tarry when the sun sets. The wind picks up, sending their little fire’s sparks off into the barren forest. The clouds block any chance of starlight, and the night is black as pitch. “We should sleep.” Merlin’s voice is muffled by the folds of Arthur’s cloak.

“I know.”

“I packed your furs.”

“I saw that. I put them out.”

Merlin is silent, and it takes Arthur a moment to realize he’s nodding his head.

“We’ll add that big log—it looks fairly dry. With any luck, it'll heat the tent through morning.”

Merlin nods his head again.

“Okay, let’s go.” Arthur pulls back his cloak, and the cold rushes against them like a crashing wave. It bites Arthur’s cheek and ears. His breath quickens and his eyes water.

Merlin lets out a small sound. Arthur turns and sees his face is pale, save a red-tipped nose and ears. “Quick,” Merlin squeaks. They rush to the log and heave it onto the fire. Merlin stoops and picks a few smaller pieces as well, adding them to the pile. Arthur does the same, feeding the flames. Merlin drops a few other sticks and broken-off limbs beside the tent. Arthur gives a last pair of pats to Hengroen and Buttercup, the mares, and follows Merlin into the tent.

The tent is a shelter from the wind, but it is still frigid. Arthur sinks down into his furs with a heavy sigh. He watches Merlin collapse onto his meager little bedroll, attempt to bundle himself into it, and resume shivering.

“It’ll be warmer tomorrow,” Arthur says.

“Nngh.”

“The clouds looked thinner. I think the sun will be back.”

“Hmmf.”

“Anyway, more activity will warm us both.”

“Mm.”

Arthur lies on his back. The sound of Merlin’s teeth knocking together fills the night. He closes his eyes and sighs. “We’ve hunted in cold like this before,” he complains. Then he thinks back and realizes it may not be true. He realizes, suddenly, that he has brought Merlin along in the least hospitable environment he has probably been in himself. And, he realizes, Merlin doesn’t have the proper equipment for this; he may actually freeze. To death.

Suddenly, Arthur feels much colder.

“Merlin.”

“Hm?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“Here.” Arthur lifts his top layer of furs. “You’re going to freeze. Just, come here.”

“Huh?”

“We’ll just have to share. It’s fine.”

He watches Merlin sit up, tense as a bowstring. And then Merlin’s head tilts into a slight nod, and he scuttles over into Arthur’s bed.

Arthur closes the pile of furs over them. They lie on their backs, side by side, and look up. Arthur’s nose aches with the cold. “Here,” he says again. He turns into Merlin, settling deeper into the bedding. He tugs the furs up around his face. Merlin does the same, turning away from Arthur, on his side. His body shifts back against Arthur’s, and the warmth is an immediate relief. Arthur’s breath slows. Merlin’s shaking calms and ceases again.

“It’s nearly Imbolc,” Merlin whispers.

“Just a fortnight. I’ll plan a feast.”

“There’s already a feast.”

“I’ll plan a bigger one.”

“You mean you’ll make me plan a bigger one.”

“You can have whatever you like,” Arthur cajoles him. “Like those sweet buns with the currants.”

“ _You_ like the sweet buns with the currants. You ask for them all the time.”

“That’s because I know you like them.”

“Oh,” Merlin says.

Arthur feels his face heat. He didn’t think it possible to sweat in weather like this, but his body disagrees; his stomach prickles with the discomfort. “Anyway,” he continues, “Maybe a few more buns would help you stay warmer.”

“So _that’s_ why you’re so warm.”

“I’m not fat, Merlin.” Arthur realizes Merlin has gone soft and relaxed, and a spark of pride warms him further. _I did that_.

“Just insulated.”

“You seem to be rather enjoying my insulation,” Arthur points out.

“I am,” Merlin agrees. He wiggles a little bit to show his approval, and Arthur feels his body slide even closer in response. His legs push against Merlin’s. “I’m much warmer now,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur dreams he’s fighting a strange dragon. Its body is ocean blue and emerald green, but its flames are white hot with streaks of silver. It showers Arthur with its heat, and he sweats. He swings Excalibur against it, but it dodges him easily. The heat radiates from its long, agile body; he sweats more. Arthur strips off his cloak and his armor. He strips off his shirt.

Merlin’s movement wakes him in the night: he, too, is stripping off his shirt, then pushing back against Arthur in their almost-too-warm bedding. Arthur’s bare chest meets Merlin’s skin, and it’s perfect. They tumble back into sleep.

Arthur is always slow to wake. His mind stirs first. He’s burrowed in, beneath a heavy layer of blanket and fur. A suggestion of chill creeps around the edges of his consciousness, telling him to enjoy this comfort, encouraging him to cling to it as long as possible. His body is languid, heavy as a stone. Pressed against him, chest to toe, is a hot, solid body. Arthur pushes himself more firmly against it. Their legs are impossibly entwined. It is morning, and his body responds in its usual way: his cock is attentive. It presses hard into the lithe thing, finding the curve of an arse to push against. His body seems to sing in satisfaction, and he tilts his head forward.

Arthur’s lips find the knobby top of a spine. He takes a deep breath in. _Merlin_. The scent is unmistakably Merlin. Arthur sighs. He pulls his arms tight and presses Merlin more fully against him. “Mmm,” Merlin responds. His body quivers.

Arthur opens his mouth and presses his lips, curved and wet, against the back of Merlin’s neck. A shiver takes hold of both their bodies. Arthur’s fingers open against Merlin’s chest. He feels his heart beating like a frightened bird. He lets his lips travel, mouthing his way to Merlin’s neck. “Mmm,” he responds.

Merlin’s body shakes again—so very like the night before. He heaves a breath. “Arthur,” he says.

Arthur nips at his earlobe. “Hmm?” he growls. _Don’t you_ dare _wake me. You better not stop me now._

“Arthur it’s me.”

Arthur opens his eyes. He tips his head back. Midmorning sun is casting its rays against the tent walls, and Arthur is having his way with his half-sleeping manservant. He slept half the day, and he’s holding Merlin like a lover, with no shame. “Um,” he says.

Merlin’s body shifts, rubbing against Arthur’s cock. “I, uh, can just go—”

“No!” Arthur tries to stop himself from pushing against Merlin, but his body is tantalizing. He thrusts, just a little. Merlin moans. “I mean, if you want…”

“No,” Merlin answers. “That is,” he rocks back against Arthur, “I’ve often thought body heat would—”

“Shut up Merlin.” Arthur pushes Merlin down onto his back and holds himself over him. He stares down at him. He doesn’t blink, but he slowly lets his body lower, sinking into Merlin’s. Their chests touch, and then their stomachs, and then Arthur’s hardness is met by Merlin’s and his eyes close again.

When their lips finally meet, Arthur has to grip Merlin’s hand to center himself. His breath is gone. His mind goes blank. He tangles his other hand into Merlin’s hair and angles his face perfectly for his lips to plunder.

Merlin gasps. “You don’t know,” he manages to whisper between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted—”

Arthur swallows the rest. He molds his lips against Merlin’s and explores him with his tongue. He nibbles at his plump bottom lip. He sucks at it to soothe the bites.

“Yes I do,” he argues.

Merlin licks a line down his neck and sucks hard on his throat, coaxing a feral noise from Arthur. “You don’t,” Merlin argues, licking his way across Arthur’s chest.

“From the beginning,” Arthur says, and Merlin stills. Their eyes meet. Merlin bites his lip. “Me too,” Arthur admits.

Merlin leans his face into Arthur’s. He kisses him slow and deep, as if never, in a thousand years or more, will he be able to sate himself of this thirst. Arthur’s hands feed his hunger.

The last embers of the fire shift outside their tent. The wind changes direction. Imbolc is nigh, and spring will come.

But for now, they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> It's super short, and I always feel like that makes the development hard. Hopefully there's enough paratextual background to make it effective.
> 
> As always, I'd love any sort of thoughts!! I know this one isn't too deep, but I hope you like it!


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